


Fucking Sentimental Idiot

by Squeaky



Series: Intoabar fics [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), El Ministerio del Tiempo (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, As in time travel doesn't work like it did in Endgame, Community: intoabar, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fix-It of Sorts, Irene is a BAMF, M/M, Pacino no, Steve & Bucky 4-Ever, Temporary Character Death, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky/pseuds/Squeaky
Summary: After Spain's first democratic president is shot and their friend killed by the Winter Soldier, Ministry of Time Agents Irene Larra and Jesús 'Pacino' Méndez know they have no choice but to go back in time to fix what happened.Even if it means lying to Steve Rogers.Even if it means James Barnes has to die.





	Fucking Sentimental Idiot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/gifts).

> For those of you who have not had the pleasure, the characters of [ Irene Larra, Alonso de Entrerríos and Jesús 'Pacino' Méndez ](https://cultureca.files.wordpress.com/2017/11/ministeriotiempo3x121.jpg?w=495&h=330) are from the excellent [ El Ministerio del Tiempo.](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4136774/) It's a wonderful Spanish time-traveling adventure series on Netflix, and it's totally worth your time.
> 
> The Howling Commandos, Steve 'Captain America' Rogers, and James 'Bucky' Barnes are all introduced in the fabulous Marvel product [Captain America: The First Avenger.](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0458339/) If you haven't seen it, it portrays the origin story of Captain America and it's a real treat. 
> 
> This fic was written for [Taste_is_Sweet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet) for her generous contribution to the 2019 Fandom Trumps Hate auction. She was also this story's beta and helped me solve so many plot problems I should've paid her. I'm very lucky.
> 
> This fic was also written for the Intoabar prompt: Steve Rogers goes into a bar and meets...Irene Larra!
> 
> * * *

Pacino was still shaking.

She could see it, even from across the Ministry's cantina: the subtle tremor in his shoulders; the way his hands were pressed tightly to the edge of the table when he wasn't running them through his hair.

Irene Larra frowned to herself as she scooped the bottle of _Mahou_ beer off the bar and went over, setting it firmly in front of him.

He jumped; eyes wide. This close it was easy to see the streaks of blood he'd left in his hairline. _Alonso's blood_. Irene's mouth hardened. "Drink."

Obediently, Jesús 'Pacino' Méndez placed the bottle to his lips and drank deeply, the column of his throat moving as he swallowed. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. It was coated in congealing blood. Pacino carefully put the half-empty bottle on the table, as if the glass might shatter.

_L__ike he is._ Irene thought. She put her hand on his shoulder, well above the white bandage that wrapped around the injury on his bicep, visible under the edge of his golf shirt. There was a small dot of blood that had soaked through. "We're going to fix this."

"Fix this?" he repeated. "Fix…" he shook his head, then rubbed his face with his hands. His eyes were wet. "Alonso is _dead_. How can we fix that?"

"Because the President _isn't,_" she snapped. "We're still here, and so is the Ministry, which means Adolfo Suárez is _still alive!_ And, as long as he's still alive, we have a chance to fix this."

"It was an ambush. A fucking ambush!" Pacino swore. "And that…that _thing_ that attacked us? What the _fuck_ was it?"

"The Winter Soldier," Irene said. Her heartrate ticked up just from his name.

"'The Winter Soldier'?" Pacino looked at her. "Are you shitting me? That sounds like a comic book."

"He was considered a ghost story, and most of the intelligence community didn't believe he existed. Until 2016, that is. When he was implicated in the bombing of the Sokovian Accords in Vienna."

Pacino frowned. "Didn't the Avengers have something to do with that?"

Irene raised her eyebrows. "I'm surprised you know that. The bombing happened after you returned to 1981."

He gave a small shrug with one shoulder, already impatient with the conversation. "I don't understand what this has to do with Alonso…with Alonso's—" His voice cracked and he took another swig of his beer.

"The Winter Solider is credited for over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years," Irene said. She waited until Pacino put his beer down and looked at her. "Over the last _fifty years._" She repeated as his eyes widened.

"He travels through time?" Pacino's voice was nearly a whisper.

"No. Well, not like we do. As far as we know, Spain is still the only country with our network of doors to the past, and there's no indication that anyone else besides the Americans have developed any kind of technology that can move people through time.

"He was frozen," Irene continued at Pacino's blank look. "Pulled out of a cryogenic sleep, sent to assassinate a target and then put back under. For decades."

"For decades?" Pacino stared at her. "Fuck me. That's one dedicated asshole. Who'd he work for? The Russians?"

"Not just the Russians," Irene said. "Hydra."

"He's _Hydra?" _Pacino slammed his fist on the table. "That fucking Nazi son of a bitch! He killed Alonso! _Murdered_—" He put his face in his hands.

Irene put her hand on his shoulder, trying to help ground him as he got himself under control. She dearly wished she could leave him alone, let him rage and grieve and mourn the friend who'd been killed in front of then both. But they didn't have time. She shook his shoulder. Hard enough to get him to look up. "Pacino! Pull it together."

His eyes snapped to hers, the deep brown of his iris nearly black with grief. He wiped his eyes. "Okay. Okay. Fine. I'm fine."

"We can fix this," she repeated. "As long as Adolfo Suárez is still alive history won't change. We can fix this."

"He shot Suárez in the _head_," Pacino protested. "He might not be dead yet, but no one can survive a wound like that for long."

"Which is why we need to get moving now." Irene stood and patted Pacino on the shoulder. "Come on."

"Why? Where are we going?" Pacino said, but he stood as he was speaking, ready to follow her.

"To 2011." Irene walked briskly down the hallway towards wardrobe. While their seventies garb wouldn't be too out of place in the twenty-tweens, it was preferable to look as inconspicuous as possible. Besides, it was always better to not get on an international flight covered in blood.

"2011? Why?' Pacino jogged a few steps to catch up with Irene's stride and then fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her pace.

"Because we need to stop the Winter Soldier from attempting to assassinate Suárez." And_ killing Alonso in the process. _She left the rest of the sentence go unsaid. 

"But he shot Suárez in 1976," Pacino said. "Shouldn't we go back there? Stop him then?"

"No." Irene shook her head. "We need to stop him before then. Alonso was the best fighter we had and even he was no match for the Winter Soldier. We have to go back to when things will be more even."

"And when would that be? His birth?" Pacino scoffed. "How would we even know when that was? You said it yourself, the guy's been a ghost for over fifty years."

"Actually, that's precisely what we're going to do. We're going to go back to when the Winter Soldier was born."

"What?" Pacino stopped walking to stare at her, then had to jog to catch up. "This still doesn't make sense. 2016 minus fifty doesn't equal 2011. Why are we going there?"

"Because that's when we can talk to the person who knows exactly when the Winter Soldier came to be." Irene's voice was hard. "And once we know that, we’re going to stop him before he kills a single person."

Pacino stopped again, this time grabbing Irene's arm. "Wait. Are you planning on going back in time and _killing _him? I got in trouble for doing that when I killed that bastard Francisco Morán, and he murdered women in front of their children! There's no way that Salvador is going to let you do that."

"Then it's good that I haven't told him, isn't it?" Irene wrenched her arm from Pacino's grip and kept walking. A moment later he fell into step beside her, as she knew he would.

"I'm only doing this to save Alonso," Pacino said. "I don't like lying to Salvador."

Irene bit her tongue and didn't remind Pacino of how he'd lied to all of them about his ex-girlfriend Marta having 'escaped' his custody when he'd actually just let her go. Now was definitely not the time to reopen old wounds. "I don't like lying to him, either. But I also don't like the idea of one of our agents being _killed_. Not when we can save him."

"So," Pacino said after they'd taken several steps in complete silence. "Who's our expert on the Winter Solider? Are they in Spain?"

"No. New York."

"New York?" Pacino looked at her. "Who the hell are we going to see?"

"Captain America."

"Fuck me." Pacino breathed. "_Captain America_?"

"That's what I said," Irene said.

"What's Captain America got to do with the Winter Soldier?"

"The Winter Soldier is James Barnes." 

"_James Barnes?" _Pacino exclaimed, "but he died in forty-five."

"That's what everyone believed until the bombing. Now the whole world knows that the Winter Soldier and James Barnes are one and the same."

"Holy shit." Pacino absorbed that information for a moment. "My dad knew an American stationed at Morón Air Base when I was growing up. He sent my dad comics for me to read. Captain America and Bucky Barnes were my heroes."

"And one of your heroes shot Alonso three times in the chest," Irene spat.

Pacino's jaw hardened. "And for that he needs to die."

"Good," Irene said, pleased that she and Pacino were in agreement over what had to be done. "Angustias has arranged for tickets to be waiting for us at Madrid–Barajas in 2011. And before you ask, no, she won't tell Salvador. Alonso was her friend, too."

They reached the wardrobe office, and Irene pulled open the door. Normally she loved seventies garb, but she couldn't wait to rip off the short wig and allow her long hair free. She'd also burn the dress if she could, and with it every memory of the Winter Soldier's attack and the way Alonso looked, bleeding out on the grass…

She shook her head to clear it of the thought. They'd fix this. There was no other way.

She turned to Pacino. He still looked pale and shaken, but the determination she'd come to expect from him was back in his eyes. He might not be the most experienced agent, but she'd go through any doorway with him. She forced herself to smile. "Pack light."

* * *

"_Senior_ Steve Rogers?"

Steve looked up from where he'd been sketching Stark Tower on one of the café's paper placemats, instantly wary. There were two people looking down at him. One was a woman, her long blond hair hanging nearly to her waist. She had dark eyes, and was wearing a short-sleeved, tight fitting dress that ended just above her knees. It emphasised her lean muscles and the power in her deceptively slight frame. She was beautiful and strong, and her entire aura projected competence and danger. Steve was suddenly reminded so strongly of Peggy that he had to catch his breath.

He adverted his eyes to her companion. The man was above average height, and as lean and muscular as his female companion. Although where her hair was blond and sleek, his was shaggy and dark brown and looked like he'd barely taken the time to comb it. He had a mustache and sideburns that would've made Dum Dum jealous. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into dark blue jeans with a brown belt that sat low over slim hips. He was equally as attractive as his companion, and almost as dangerous. Steve sat up straighter.

"Ma'am?"

The woman folded herself neatly into the chair opposite him. She gestured for the man to sit as well, and he did, turning the chair around to straddle it. It scraped on the pavement, making a horrible shrieking sound. "_Lo siento,_" he muttered.

"Senior Rogers," the woman said, a Spanish accent colouring her words. "I am Irene Larra, and this is my companion, Jesús Méndez—"

"Pacino," the man cut in.

"—Pacino," Irene continued smoothly. "We need to speak with you on something very important."

Steve's eyes moved from Irene to Pacino and back again, trying to figure out who they were. He didn't ask how they knew his name. Apparently his coming out of the ice had been a big deal and the news had been reported all over the world. He was as famous now as he'd ever been as Captain America during the war. "Who are you?"

"We are journalists," Irene said. "From Spain."

Steve would buy the Spanish part, but the rest was a lie. Steve would've known from their demeanor alone. "No, you're not."

"Yes, we are," Irene said without batting an eye. "We are with _El Pa__ís_. Here are our credentials." She pulled out two ID cards, conveniently written in Spanish. They looked legitimate, but Steve had learned from the internet that many things could be faked in this modern world. Including identification.

"These are fake." Steve tossed them back at her. "Tell me the truth or I'm leaving."

The pair shared a look, and it seemed that Pacino won the short battle. He leaned forward; arms crossed on the back of the chair. "We are agents," he said, his accent was thicker than Irene's. "Of the government of Spain."

That made more sense. Fury had warned Steve that other governments might approach him to try to get their hands on the super soldier serum that ran through his veins. Steve tensed, eyes immediately scanning the crowd for assailants, and the area around him for the best direction to run.

"We will not hurt you," Irene said, clearly picking up on his tension. "We just want to talk."

"You are a hero," Pacino put in. "I read of you. When I am a child." He blushed.

"Oh. Well, thanks." Steve's face heated as well and he rubbed the back of his neck. He let his shoulders loosen. He might have been young when he went into the ice, but he'd never been naïve. Irene and Pacino said they didn't want to hurt him, and beyond the fake IDs, he had no reason to doubt their word.

Besides, as strong as they both seemed to be, he doubted that either of them could truly take him in a fight.

Steve was just about to ask them what they wanted when Irene spoke: "We need to know about James Buchanan Barnes."

Hearing the name was like a punch to the gut. To the whole world, Bucky had died seventy years ago, but to Steve it was only four months. He was immediately transported to Austria, to the freezing cold and the wind, and the way Bucky's eyes looked, wide and terrified as he fell…

"Bucky?" Steve finally managed to force out.

"We need to know about the day he fell from the train," Irene said. "All of it."

"Why?" Steve still hadn't regained his breath; couldn't imagine how to draw air into his lungs. It felt like he was the one falling, his whole body tumbling through air that was too cold and thick to breathe. He gripped the table's edge, dimly aware that the material was cracking under his hands.

And then something firm and cool was pressed to his face, first his forehead and his cheeks. "_Respira!_"

He sucked in a breath and then another, following the meaning of her command even though he didn’t understand the word. Suddenly he was back in his body, back sitting at the café in Manhattan. Only now Irene was standing beside him, her hands against his cheeks. Her companion, Pacino was looking at him, and there was so much compassion in his eyes that Steve thought he'd break right there.

He stood quickly enough that his chair toppled to the ground. "I…I need to leave."

Pacino jumped up just as Irene grabbed Steve's arm. He wanted to shake her off, he wanted to _run_, but he stood, unwilling to hurt her with his superior strength. His jaw firmed. "Let me go."

"Steve, _por favor,_" Irene said. "We know how it feels."

He whirled on her. "You _know? _How the hell would you _know_?"

"Because my friend Alonso is _dead_!" Pacino had moved to stand in front of him, his whole body vibrating with anger. "_He was murdered right in front of me!"_

Irene nodded solemnly, and now that Steve was looking, he could see it: The tightness around their eyes, the miasma of sadness that seemed to permeate the very air around them. They were grieving, just as he was, and their loss was equally as recent.

That was not what Steve had been expecting. Slowly he sat back down in the chair Irene had righted for him. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"As we are sorry for yours," Irene said. "And we are also sorry to ask you to talk about it. But we must."

"Why?" Steve said again. "Why do you need to know about the day Bucky died?"

Another look passed between the two of them. Irene's back straightened. "Because we want to stop him from falling off the train."

* * *

_Capitán _Rogers wasn’t going to tell them anything.

Irene just managed to stop herself from sighing in frustration. She wanted to pick up the cup of coffee at Steve's elbow and chuck it at his too-handsome face. He was almost distractingly gorgeous, actually, and she didn't even _like_ men.

Her hands clenched in her lap, the only outward sign of her frustration. She could feel Pacino's eyes on her, the way his gaze was trying to drill straight into her skull. He wanted her to tell him the truth about the Ministry. To give up the Ministry to Captain America and all it's secrets just so he'd tell them about James Barnes and they could save Alonso's life.

And fuck her if she didn't agree. She sent Pacino a speaking look to tell him what she planned and he nodded in encouragement. "Because we want to stop him from falling off the train," she said. It wasn't a _total _lie. If Barnes had a bullet between his eyes before he got on the train, he wouldn't be able to fall off of it.

Steve's eyes, as blue as the Mediterranean, blinked. "What?"

"Stop him…" Pacino said, then grimaced as he realized that he didn't know how to finish the sentence in English. "_Puta!_"

"Falling off the train," Irene repeated. "So, we need to know everything that happened so we can stop it."

Steve was still blinking. "That mission was classified! How do you even know about that?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Your missions are now part of the public record. But the details are not. We know that you were in the Austrian Alps in January in 1945 and that James died from falling off the train carrying Arnim Zola, but we don't know the _day_ in January, or _how_ he fell. We need the details to stop it."

Steve's confusion hadn't wavered. "But that happened in 1945. How could you stop it _now_?"

"We can go to the past," Pacino said. "With doors."

Pacino's incomplete explanation meant nothing to Steve. "What?"

Irene took a glance around to make sure no one was listening. True to their reputation, the few New Yorkers that were sharing the outdoor patio were too caught up in their own pursuits to pay them any mind. It was like being in Madrid, only quieter. "We work for the Ministry of Time, which exists to protect the history of Spain. Pacino and I are agents of this Ministry, and we travel through time to make sure that history happens as it should."

"With doors," Pacino said again. "In the basement."

"There are doors," Steve said slowly, "in the basement of the Ministry of Time? That allow you to travel _back _in time?"

"Yes!" Steve understood them. Irene smiled in relief.

Steve leaned back in his chair. "Bullshit."

"Bull—" Pacino started, then he was half-way out of his chair and right into Steve's face. "This is _not_ bullshit! This is true! _¿Cómo te atreves a acusarnos de mentirte, maldito bastardo?"_

Irene grabbed him by his collar and forced him back into his seat, glad Steve couldn't understand Spanish, because even Captain America might respond badly to being called a damned bastard for accusing them of lying. She turned to Steve, forcing herself to breathe deeply so she didn't launch herself at him the way that Pacino had just done. "The Ministry of Time is real, and so is our ability to use doors to travel through time. We are not lying."

"Doors," Steve repeated. "That are, what? Portals to different dimensions?"

"Different times!" Irene tried not to yell. "Each door leads to a different year in Spanish history. We go through the doors to fix problems that have changed the time line. And we need to go back in time to stop your friend from falling off the train."

"Why?" Steve said yet again. "I mean, I'd like nothing better in the whole world to have Bucky—" His voice cracked and Irene looked away while he collected himself. She thought about Alonso, and the way he looked before they'd gone that last mission, proud to be helping protect Spanish history even if he didn't quite agree with the idea of a democratic state. His long hair and huge mustache had actually worked with the seventies garb they'd needed to wear, although he'd complained bitterly about the fabric.

He'd actually spotted the gleam of the Winter Soldier's metal arm in the sun. He'd been the first to fire…

"Why Bucky?' Steve finally said, pulling Irene back from her memories. "Let's pretend any of this is possibly true. He's not even Spanish. Why would you want to save him?"

"_Dile_," Pacino said.

Irene licked her lips. Pacino was right. She did need to tell Steve, but she couldn't help but wish that Pacino's English was better so she could put this on him. This would be terrible for Steve to hear. "James didn't die when he fell off the train. He was captured by Hydra, tortured and brainwashed until he was turned into an assassin. They put him into cryogenic freezing when they didn't need him. Sometimes for decades. In 1976 he shot our first democratic president, Adolfo Suárez, which historically should _never_ have happened. Our friend Alonso was killed trying to prevent it." There, she'd said it, and her eyes were only a little wet.

Steve was staring at her exactly like he'd just heard the worst thing in the world. "Bucky is alive? He's been captured by Hydra?" And then his voice grew louder and more horrified, "He's been _tortured?"_

"Yes." Irene nodded. "And it all happens after James falls off the train. So, if you could just tell us—"

"I'm coming with you," Steve said. "If you're going to save Bucky, I have to be there."

"_Salvador nos matará,"_ Pacino muttered, and Irene was pretty sure he was right. Salvador _would _kill them if they brought Captain America home to Spain and then through the doors. He'd lock them up in the medieval dungeon of _Huesca _and neither of them would ever see the light of day again.

Plus, there was the little matter of how having Captain America along on this mission would completely prevent them from carrying out their goal. Their definition of 'saving' James Barnes from Hydra was very different from Steve's.

"You can't," Irene said with as much authority as she could muster. "We're going back to a time period where you already exist. You can't meet up with your past self." It was the first reason that sounded even remotely plausible that had popped into her head.

"I can't meet up with my past self?" Steve's face was almost comical in his disbelief. "Why the hell not?"

"Because, you meet. You boom," Pacino said. He moved his hands like an explosion to illustrate.

"If I meet my past self, I'll blow up?" Steve shook his head. "That's ridiculous!"

It was ridiculous, and she just managed to not roll her eyes at Pacino. "It's true," she lied. "We have strict rules in the Ministry that agents can't go within five years when they're meant to be born or from the year when they're recruited. Otherwise, disaster." She tried not to think about Julián Martínez, who'd had Pacino's spot on the Patrol before he died, and how many times he'd gone back to the years before his wife's death just to be with her. How he'd almost run into himself more than once, and nothing at all had happened.

Steve's eyes narrowed at her. "Really."

"Absolutely," she said with conviction. "There's no way our boss would allow it." That, at least, was true.

All at once the fight seemed to go out of Steve. His shoulder's sagged. "Alright. I can't go. I get it." He raised his head, and his eyes were so full of pain that Irene almost gasped. "But you'll save him? You'll rescue him from Hydra? You promise?"

Pacino slid her a glance. "On my father's grave," he said.

"And on my mother's" Irene added. Neither one of them mentioned how, thanks to time travel, both their parents were still technically alive behind their respective doors. But then again, a bullet through James' head would definitely save him from Hydra. It was certainly a quick and merciful rescue from decades of horrific torture. They'd be keeping their promise. Just not the way that Steve thought.

Steve sighed in relief. "Thank you."

"The fast you tell us, the fast we go back to Madrid and open the doors." Pacino said.

"Okay," Steve said. He scrubbed his face. "Okay."

* * *

It was fucking cold.

Pacino wrapped his arms around his knees, trying to eke a bit more warmth out of the German greatcoat he wore. The wool was thick enough to be scratchy, but didn't do a damn thing to keep the wind from penetrating the fabric. The same could be said for the turtleneck he wore underneath it, the useless uniform pants, and the toque he'd pulled low over his ears. Thank God for facial hair because otherwise he was sure that he'd have lost his lips to frostbite already.

The last time he'd been sent to World War II, he'd been with Amelia and Alonso in _Punta Umbría _on the sunny coast of Spain, where even in winter the temperature was 17 degrees. Compared to that, Austria was shit.

He glanced over at Irene where she was sitting beside him, their backs to several large boulders. The rocks offered slight shelter from the wind, and prevented them from being seen by anyone taking the thin goat track that wound its way through the Tyrol Alps. Irene was dressed the same as he was: in the uniform of the _División Azul__, _the Spanish volunteers who fought with the German army on the Russian Front in World War II. Pacino refused to let himself think too much about the fact that he and Irene were wearing Nazi uniforms.But he'd go naked if it'd bring Alonso back from the dead.

Irene looked as cold as he felt, only she didn't have a mustache or beard to help. He moved closer to her and opened his arm, the invitation obvious. She chuffed out a laugh and allowed herself to be enveloped in a one-armed hug, her cold cheek pressed to the collar of his coat. "And I thought Madrid was cold in the winter."

He smirked. "There's a big difference between plus eight and minus eight," he said. "And Madrid doesn't snow."

It had taken then nearly five days to get to Tyrol, Austria, not including the seven-hour flight from 2011 New York back to Madrid. By the time they'd arrived, Angustias had already arranged for uniforms and appropriate travel papers for two Spanish soldiers. They'd decided that it would be easier to pretend Irene was a man than to have her travel as herself, and with her heavy uniform and hat pulled low, she looked very much like a wiry young man, albeit a very pretty one.

It had taken them a further two days to reach the spot in the Alps where Captain America and the Howling Commandos would stage their assault against Zola's train. They'd been cold the entire time.

"It won't be too long now," Irene said. "According to Steve they arrive sometime tonight, set up the second half of the zip line, and settle down to wait to attack the train in the morning."

Pacino nodded, feeling both glad that the wait was going to be over soon, and sick with what they had to do. But he knew they had no choice. Spain had to become a democracy, like she was always meant to be. Hell, he'd grown up under Franco. He never wanted to live through a dictatorship again.

He glanced over to his right, just able to see the jut of the rocking outcropping where Steve and his patrol would stage their assault. Irene had taken copious notes as Steve had spoken, then repeated them over to him until she was sure she'd captured every detail. She'd then translated it into Spanish for Pacino and forced him to review it on their flight home until he'd practically memorized it. If they weren't ready now, they'd never be.

Not that anyone was ever really ready to die.

Pacino's mouth twisted with the thought, but he couldn't ignore it. Their plan would put them directly into the line of fire of the most renowned soldiers of World War II. The likelihood that they'd be able to get out of this alive was nonexistent. And even if, somehow, they did survive a confrontation with the Howling Commandos, they'd end up in jail somewhere in Allied Europe, probably for decades. The soldiers from División Azul who were captured by the Russians didn't get back to Spain until 1954 after all. There was no reason to think that he and Irene would fare any better.

The thought was terrifying. Pacino knew he was brave; following Morán through the wardrobe was proof enough of that. But he also knew that he didn't want to die. He wished he had even an ounce of Alonso's pragmatism about it. He wished that a lot.

He flexed the arm wrapped around Irene, feeling the small tug of his wound on his bicep. It was healing well, would probably barely leave a scar. But he knew if it hadn't been for Alonso pushing him out of the way the bullet that had clipped him would've ended up piercing his heart. Alonso sacrificed himself to save him. Pacino would do nothing less.

"I wish Alonso was here," Irene said quietly, like she was reading his thoughts.

Pacino chuckled. "I'm glad he's not. You know how much shit he'd be giving us for threatening a war hero?"

Irene laughed softly before sighing. "He becomes a monster. After being tortured for decades. Killing him will be a mercy."

"I'm trying to convince myself of that," Pacino said. "I wish we didn't have to do this."

"Me, too."

There was nothing else to say after that. Pacino disentangled himself from Irene and took out some rations from his pack. They ate them cold, unwilling to alert the Howling Commandos to their presence by lighting a fire. The sky was beginning to darken as the grey day slid into an even greyer dusk. It washed the colour out of everything, making it seem like they were inhabiting the black and white world of _Historias para no dormir_, and one that was equally as scary.

"There not here yet and it's really getting dark." Irene said. Pacino could just make out the concern on her face in the low light. "This could make things difficult."

"Yeah," Pacino said grimly. They had the element of surprise, but it wouldn't do them a lot of good if they couldn't see what they were shooting at.

"We can't kill all of them."

"I know." he knew what Irene meant. If you counted Barnes becoming the Winter Soldier and Steve being frozen in ice, then none of the Commandos actually died during World War Two. Killing them all would change the timeline in ways that would be impossible to predict.

The fact that Barnes had to die was already bad enough. 

"What should we do?" Irene asked, which was exactly when they heard the sound of voices. Male voices, loud, brash, and speaking in English. Exactly what you'd expect from a group of soldiers who thought they were totally alone.

"Fuck." Irene moved to a crouching position and removed her Luger pistol from its holster, her eyes just cresting above the edge of the boulder. Pacino did the same, uncomfortable with the feel of the pistol in his hand. He missed his Astra.

He also couldn't see a damn thing crouched behind this fucking rock. "Can you see?" he asked. Irene shook her head. The blond of her hair peeking out from under her hat made the move visible in the deep shadows.

"I can't either," Pacino said softly. He could hear the voices getting louder, and with it the sound of thick-soled boots crunching over snow. He knew there were only seven members of the Howling Commandos, but here, in the silence of the mountains, it sounded more like seventy. He shifted his hands on his gun, moved to the far end of the boulder and peered around the side.

There they were: Captain America and his Howlies. Their outlines were indistinct in the low light, and the blue of Steve's suit looked slate grey. But the star on Steve's chest was unmistakable, and would've made an excellent target if he was the one Pacino wanted to kill.

Unfortunately, nothing on any of the other uniforms was equally as notable as Steve's star to help them identify which one was Barnes. They were all just dark shapes against a dark background, surrounded by other dark shapes in the dark. It would be impossible to hit Barnes without taking out everyone else. And with only the boulder for cover, waiting for dawn was just asking for him and Irene to get caught.

_"Puta!"_ Pacino swore under his breath. He dropped behind the boulder, pressing his back against its rough stone. Irene was still there, the whites of her eyes the clearest thing in her face.

_Fuck. _He thought. He'd lost so many people: Amelia had gone back to her own time. Alonso was dead. He barely knew Lola. He couldn't stand for anything to happen to Irene. Not if he could do anything to stop it. Not when Alonso had set the standard for how to save a teammate's life.

"What are we going to do?" Irene's voice barely stirred the air.

"What I did in _Trasmoz,"_ he said softly. He smiled at her, hoping his teeth would show in the dark.

"In 1864? When you nearly got killed by that mob?" Irene hissed at him. "Pacino, no!"

"Stay down!" he ordered her as quietly as possible. He holstered his Luger and stepped out from behind the boulder, hands high in the air. "I want to speak with Captain America," he said loudly. "Please, no shoot!"

* * *

He had seven different weapons trained on him in a hot second. Pacino winced at the bright light being shone at him and hoped his smile looked confident and charming rather than completely terrified. He shifted his legs so that his balls weren't directly in the line of fire.

He couldn't see a damn thing with the light in his eyes, but he certainly could feel someone giving him a none-too-gentle pat down just like he used to do with the criminals he arrested. They took his Luger out of its holster, and then the knife he'd had in his coat pocket. He tensed when they started searching inside his jacket, large hands thumping against his ribs and his uniform pockets. His Ministry-Issued cell phone was in a secret compartment in the baggy waist of his pants, but it still could be felt if someone brushed against it. He really didn't want to explain it to men from the nineteen-forties if he didn't have to.

They didn't find it, but he had no time for relief. His hands were yanked roughly behind his back and his wrists tied together, tight enough to hurt.

"On your knees!" One of the soldiers shouted, kicking the back of his legs. Pacino dropped. Immediately the snow started seeping through his useless uniform pants, adding yet another layer of cold to his discomfort. His hat was torn off, and the barrel of a pistol was pressed to his temple, hard enough that it forced his head to tilt. The light was still burning straight into his eyes, making him squint.

The solider holding the gun to his head shouted something that was way too fast for Pacino to understand. He'd had Amelia teach him some English after their disastrous mission at the 1958 San Sebastián International Film Festival, but then she'd left, and practicing with Duolingo just wasn't the same. Of course, he was also scared to death which didn't help much.

The soldier repeated it, only at a higher volume, which didn't do anything for Pacino's comprehension. _"__¡No entiendo__!" _he shouted back, pissed off and frightened all at once. Fucking Americans, assuming everyone spoke English.

"I don't think he understands German," one of the soldiers said.

Pacino cracked one eye open, then sighed in relief when the bright light was no longer aimed right into his retina. So that wasn't English they were shouting at him. No wonder he didn't understand any of it. "I no speak German," he said. "I speak Spanish."

The light moved off his face altogether, and Pacino let his shoulders sag. It was now shining on his right arm, directly over the crest embroidered in the red and gold of Spain. Not that he could see it right now, his vision was full of coloured lights as his eyes tried to recover.

"It would make sense that he speaks Spanish. He's Blue Division," another soldier said.

"They can’t be Blue Division, Monty!" That was the same soldier who had recognized he didn't speak German. "They were all recalled back to Spain in 1944 after fighting the Russians. It makes no sense that he’d be here."

"I want to speak with Captain America," Pacino repeated. He hadn't really understood everything that the other soldier had said, but he got the gist. "Please, no shoot," he added, just in case they hadn't understood that the first time. The gun was still pressed to his temple.

"Does anyone actually speak Spanish?" Yet another soldier said as if he hadn't spoken. "It's going to be hard to get information out of him we don't."

"I bet he speaks more English than he's letting on." That statement was accompanied by a _crack_ of knuckles that sent a shiver down Pacino's spine.

_"Parlez vous fran__ç__ais?"_ Someone else asked him. Pacino turned his head towards the speaker as much as the gun barrel would allow. He could just make out a man-sized shape in the dark.

_"No hablo francés,"_ Pacino said to the guy, hoping the guy would understand that he didn't even speak enough French to say that he didn't speak French in French.

"I speak Italian. Think that'll work?" This was another new voice, but once again Pacino couldn't really tell who was speaking. The lights, although away from his face, were still directed at him, leaving everyone else in shadow. He desperately wanted to know if Irene was okay. He knew she hadn't been found by how everyone's focus was only on him, but he also knew that there was no way that she could get away before dawn. Well, he'd just have to keep everyone occupied until then. He forced himself to not even glance towards the boulder she was hiding behind.

"Italian ain't Spanish, Buck." _Captain America._ Pacino had only spoken with him once, but he remembered Steve's voice. He went to stand, to remind Steve that they'd met before, in a café in Manhattan, but then stopped. That meeting might be in Pacino's past, but for Steve it wouldn't happen for another seventy years.

"Actually, Italian and Spanish are close enough that he should be able to understand you, if you speak slowly," He-Doesn't-Speak-German guy said.

This apparently started a discussion about the similarities between Italian and Spanish among the soldiers, which did nothing to advance Pacino's goals. "I want to speak to Captain America!" he shouted.

The backhand across his face was as sudden as it was painful and Pacino just managed to keep himself from falling over with the force of the blow. His head was ringing and the familiar taste of copper filled his mouth. He spat a glob of blood onto the snow. The pistol wasn't pressed against his head any longer, though. At least that was something.

"You're not giving the orders here, pal," said Knuckle-cracker.

_"Eres el hijo de una puta,"_ Pacino said. It was deeply satisfying to say even if he knew Knuckle-cracker couldn't understand.

To his surprise, the guy that Steve called Buck laughed. "Dum Dum, I think he just called you a son of a whore!"

"He said _what _about my mother?" Dum Dum stepped forward, rumbling low in his throat and Pacino shrank back, eyes squeezed shut. He really didn't want to get beaten to death.

"Enough," Steve said forcefully. "Dum Dum, Dernier and Monty, go set up the zip line. We'll deal with the prisoner." Pacino cracked his eyes open when no new blow landed. Steve was standing there, right in front of him, looking absolutely huge and downright deadly in his uniform and with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He saw the three men walk further up the trail to the outcropping, lights bobbing in time with their steps. "So," Steve said, towering over him. "Who the hell are you, and what the hell are you doing here?"

Pacino swallowed. In his desire to rescue Irene and salvage their mission he hadn't really thought beyond getting the Howlies' attention. Well he had it now, time to do something with it.

If only he knew what.

He looked at the men staring down at him. Someone had shifted the lights, and he could finally see his captors. There was a quiet man with dark hair near the back that he recognized as Jim Morita. Gabriel Jones had the dark facial hair and was standing on Steve's left side. On Steve's right side, close enough that their shoulders were touching, was the man called 'Buck', and as soon as Pacino saw him, he knew who he was. The man who should always be at Steve's right hand. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Steve's Bucky.

He was young, almost painfully so. A full eight years younger than Pacino himself. He was about Pacino's height, dark where Steve was light, and so handsome it almost hurt. There was nothing about him that foreshadowed the terrible future he had in store.

Steve turned to look at his friend for a moment, and even in the incomplete light of the flashlights, the obvious affection he felt for him was clear in his eyes. _Oh. _Pacino's eye went wide with the sudden realization. _Steve and Bucky are in love._ No wonder Steve drove the plane into the Artic only three months after Bucky fell off the train. Pacino thought back to when he’d seen Marta, lying in a pool of her own blood at the bottom of the stairs. He thought about Alonso, lifeless on the grass with three bullet holes in his chest. He knew what that kind of pain felt like.

And he and Irene had to shoot him.

_Unless they didn't._ His eyes widened with the realization. They _didn't_ need to kill Bucky. They just needed to ensure that he never became the Winter Soldier.

"Talk!" Steve bellowed at him, holding up one huge red-gloved hand in a threatening gesture. From everything Pacino had read about Captain America in the comics, he knew the man didn't believe in torture. But he also knew that Steve would do anything to protect his people, and right now Pacino was a definite threat.

But they didn't know about Irene.

_Shit, shit, shit! _Pacino's heart stuttered at the thought. They had _no idea_ that Irene was still crouched behind the boulder, and now that they'd shifted the light, it would be almost too easy for her to stand up and shoot Barnes right that second. 

_Please don't shoot me,_ he thought. He staggered to his feet. As he'd suspected, the four men immediately pointed their guns at him. That was fine. It allowed him to manoeuvre himself between Barnes and Irene's line of sight. She might shoot him herself, but hopefully not before he gave Barnes a second chance. And with it, maybe one for Suárez and Alonso as well.

If only he could speak better fucking English.

"Hydra know you come tomorrow," Pacino said quickly before anyone could make up their mind to open fire. "They take Barnes. They—_fuck! What was the fucking word?—_take…" He growled in frustration. His eyes met Barnes', beseeching him to understand as he switched back to Spanish. "Hydra knows you're coming! They want to capture you and finish their experiments!" His chest was heaving.

Barnes stared at him. "Wait," he said slowly in Italian. "Hydra knows we're coming?"

_"Si!" _Pacino shouted in Spanish. "And they'll capture you!"

Barnes covered his mouth with his hands. "Holy shit."

"What?" Steve asked his friend. "What did he say?"

"He says that Hydra knows we're coming," Barnes said in English. "He said that they want to capture me to…to continue their experiments."

Morita let out a low whistle.

"That can't be true, can it?" Jones said. "I mean, how would he know that?"

"Yeah, how would you know that?" Morita took a step forward, trying to be as intimidating as Dum Dum and being actually somewhat successful. Pacino took a step back.

"I am _Maquis_," Pacino said quickly, giving the name for the French and Spanish resistance fighters during World War II. "I am…" _Another fucking word he didn't know!_ "…_Espia_," he finished, forced to use the Spanish word.

"You're a spy?" Jones said, because apparently the Spanish word and the English word for spy were close enough.

"And you came all the way here to tell us this?" Steve said. "Why wouldn't you just inform the SSR in London?"

Because Pacino didn't have a fucking clue what the SSR was. Irene knew this stuff way better than he did. He barely stopped himself from looking over at the boulder where Irene was still hiding. "I could not," he said. It was true.

"Why should we believe you?" Morita said. "You could've been sent by Hydra to keep us from completing the mission!"

"Or, he could've just stayed behind that boulder and shot us all," Jones said. "I think he's telling the truth."

"I don't," Morita said.

"Well I do," Jones said decisively. "And I think we should listen to what he has to say."

"I think that's bullshit!" Morita swore. "He's a fucking German spy and trusting him is the last thing we should do."

That comment sparked a debate between the four men that Pacino couldn't hope to follow. He stood there in the cold, waiting the decision about his fate. His ears were burning from the wind and his hands were burning from the tight rope around them. His jaw ached from where Dum Dum had smacked him earlier, and gingerly he poked at the cut in his cheek with his tongue. It was still bleeding.

But he wasn't dead yet and Irene was still safe. So far so good.

Some sort of conclusion seemed to have been reached, because the four men came back over to where he was standing. Steve gestured at Morita. "Until his hands."

Morita came over, grumbling under his breath, knife drawn. But all he did was slice through the cords around Pacino's wrists instead of stabbing him in the kidney.

Pacino rubbed at his wrists, flexing his fingers as the feeling came back. He met Barnes' eyes.

Barnes looked away.

Steve stood in front of Pacino again. "We have to capture Zola tomorrow, and I sure as hell don't want Hydra to capture Bucky, so you need to tell me everything you know."

"We will," Pacino said. "My friend and me."

"Your friend?" Steve repeated, head whipping around. "Where?"

"Irene," Pacino called over his shoulder, fingers crossed that he wasn't making the biggest mistake of both their lives. "Can you come out?"

* * *

Irene was going to fucking kill him.

She crouched behind the rock, cringing as Pacino was smacked by that brute of an American. She fingered her pistol, suppressing the desire to shoot the redheaded bastard right between the eyes.

And then she'd shoot Pacino for being such an idiot. Swear to God.

She knew what he was doing; he'd decided that it was too dark for them to achieve their objective so he was trying to…do something to help the situation. She wasn't sure what he was actually accomplishing besides getting himself beaten. He was such an idiot.

But then the redheaded brute and two other soldiers were sent away, and the four that were left had allowed their flashlights to drop away from Pacino's face, which resulted in them illuminating themselves instead. Clearly it hadn't occurred to them that Pacino might not be alone.

That oversight seemed extremely amateurish for a team that was meant to be the best the Allied forces had to offer, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She stood a bit higher and quietly slid the barrel of her pistol over the edge of the rock.

James Buchanan Barnes was standing on Steve's right hand side, lit up like an angel in church.

And she was going to blow his fucking head off.

She'd only get one shot at this. As soon as the gun went off, she and Pacino were as good as dead. Carefully, she took aim, locking her gaze to right between Barnes' eyes. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Pacino stood up, moving in between her and the target in a way that seemed almost purposeful. _"Maldito idiota!" _Irene swore under her breath. What the _fuck_ was he doing?

She went to aim around Pacino's head, but quickly realized that she couldn't. He was matching Barnes' movements to make sure he was always blocking her line of sight. He was purposely preventing her from killing Barnes, and she had no idea why.

She exhaled in frustration and crouched back down behind the boulder. She was just far enough away and there was enough wind that she couldn't hear what Pacino was saying to the Americans. But they hadn't shot him yet, which was something.

And then the son of a bitch called her name loud enough for her to hear it, and she knew any chance they had to kill Barnes was officially over. Fucking idiot!

Sighing deeply, she stepped from behind the boulder, hands up and Luger pointed at the sky. "I surrender," she said in English. "Please don't shoot."

They were on her before she could take her next breath, but unlike Pacino's treatment, she got to keep her hat and they left her hands untied. Her gun disappeared however, as did her knife. Finally, one of the soldiers went to look behind the boulder, and their rucksacks were found and emptied onto the snow. She purposefully didn't glance down at her waistband where her Ministry cell phone was hidden. If they didn't find Pacino's when they searched him, she hoped that hers would also remain undiscovered.

Clearly hearing the commotion, the big redheaded brute came back from where he and the other two were setting up the zipline. "How many fucking krauts are hiding out here anyway?" he asked. _That's Timothy Dugan,_ Irene realized. Now that she was face-to-face with the Howling Commandos it was easy to match them to the pictures she'd seen when researching their trip. Lola had been extremely helpful in getting her the right information. It was always useful to have an Agent from the right time period to ask.

"She's Spanish, like him," Gabriel Jones said. "But I doubt the Blue Division ever had female soldiers."

"She's a spy, like Peggy," Steve said, which must have been meaningful to them because they all nodded in agreement. "And we're damn lucky that she's on our side, because while we were distracted with him, she could've killed us all." It was clear that Steve was chastising his team for not properly checking their surroundings, and including himself in the reprimand. A good leader.

"I still think they're kraut spies," Dugan said. "We should leave 'em here for the wolves."

"They could've killed us," Jones said. "I think the fact they didn't means we can trust them."

Irene glanced at Pacino. It was obvious from his blank expression that the English was way too fast for him to understand. She still wasn't sure why he'd blown up their mission like he had. She glared at him, and he caught her gaze, giving her his most charming smile.

She rolled her eyes.

"Well what are we doing with them, then?" Dugan was still complaining. "Because if you think I'm gonna sleep like a baby with two kraut spies sleeping next to me, you got another think coming!"

"Zipline attached as ordered," the Brit, James Montgomery Farnsworth said as he reappeared with the Frenchman, Jaques Dernier. His head bobbed back as he caught sight of her. "You've found another?"

"Mountain's crawling with Germans," Jim Morita spat.

"They're _Spanish_," Jones said.

"They're allied with the Germans, so same difference." Dugan replied.

"It's not," Jones insisted to Dugan. "The Spanish don't fight anyone but the Russians."

"Well, they're _dressed _like fucking Nazis."

"And your Captain is dressed like the American flag," Irene said tartly, annoyed with the conversation. "We wear what we wear because we must."

Dugan was now eyeing her appreciatively. "Your English is pretty good. For a kraut."

"Spaniard!" She and Jones said at the same time. Pacino laughed.

"Enough," Steve said finally. "It's obvious they're from Spain, and since we're not dead, I think we can safely say that they're on our side. I think our best course of action is to figure out what they know about tomorrow's mission, and turn that knowledge to our advantage."

"We should, but separately," Morita said. "That way, if their stories don't match up, we'll know they're lying."

"But my colleague doesn't speak English," Irene said. "I need to translate."

_"__¿Qu__é?" _Pacino asked her.

"I need to translate for you," she said to him in Spanish as he made her point. He nodded his understanding just as Morita shook his head.

"No, no way. That's a recipe for collusion if I ever heard it."

"Well, what do you suggest?" Steve asked him. "None of us speak Spanish, either."

"The sergeant speaks Italian. They seemed to understand each other. Let him do it." Jones said.

"Sure, Cap. I can do that." Barnes shrugged, but he didn't look happy.

"Good." Steve nodded his head decisively. "I'll talk with the woman; you talk with him and we'll compare notes after." He took Irene's arm with more gentleness than she would've expected. "Don't worry, Buck," he said softly. "Nothing bad's going to happen to you. I promise."

_Oh. _Irene blinked at the revelation. Steve was in love with his Sergeant, and if the way Barnes was looking at Steve meant anything at all, the feelings were mutual. It reminded her of the way Maria used to look at her, when they were still together and before that bastard Levia had ruined it all.

She looked over at Pacino to see if he'd noticed it too. He tilted his head in response with a 'what can you do?' expression, and Irene suddenly understood why he'd done what he'd done.

She frowned at him. That fucking sentimental idiot.

He grinned back, and Barnes took his arm and led him away to a corner of their campsite, leaving her with Captain America.

"So, Spanish lady spy," Steve said conversationally, "let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?"

* * *

Bucky, Pacino decided, was a pretty cool dude.

They were sitting on a couple of smaller rocks at the edge of the campsite, well out of earshot of Irene and Steve as they spoke. The longer Pacino talked with Bucky, the happier he was that he hadn't let Irene shoot Bucky in the head. He knew that he'd get hell for it later, if they lived. But right now, it felt totally worth it.

He and Bucky had figured out a system pretty quickly. Bucky spoke Italian slowly and carefully, and Pacino spoke slow and careful Spanish in return. If there was a word that either of them didn't know, they'd switch it out for another one until understanding was accomplished. He'd actually had no idea how similar Italian and Spanish were.

"All the dock workers I worked with in Brooklyn were Italian," Bucky explained in Italian when Pacino asked. "You spend all day just about every day with those mooks and you pick stuff up, you know?"

Pacino did know. He'd picked up some Catalan phrases from working with Amelia without even trying. 

"So, Hydra wants me back, alive or dead?" Bucky said after Pacino had told him everything he knew. "That seems pretty risky to me. I mean, how do they know they’ll manage to take me out on the train?" It was obvious Bucky was still suspicious of him, and was still trying to figure out what his real angle was.

"I don't know,' Pacino said honestly. He remembered reading something about Bucky receiving some kind of experimental drug when he'd been a prisoner in Kreischberg, but he wasn't sure he should mention it. "But that is their plan."

"Then I guess I'd better not get captured or killed on that the train, huh? Sounds easy enough."

"It won't be easy," Pacino said, desperation making his voice harsh. Bucky had to understand the importance of what he was being told. "They _will_ capture you!"

"You seem awfully sure about this." Bucky's eyes narrowed.

"I am. If you go on that train, Hydra will capture you." _And then you'll ruin Spain's future and kill my friend._

"I don't see how," Bucky shook his head. "Now that I know that they're going to try to trap me somewhere on the train, it seems pretty simple to avoid."

Pacino ran his hand through his hair in frustration. Bucky wasn't getting it, and probably _wouldn't_ unless Pacino told him every last detail about his capture. Which was something that even an extremely well-informed spy wouldn't know. Not unless he already knew what was going to happen.

Which would mean that he'd have to tell Bucky about the Ministry of Time, which would _really _suck if Bucky ended up captured by Hydra. They already had the Exterminating Angels and the Sons of Padilla running around changing Spanish history, they didn't need Hydra doing it as well.

"It won't be simple to avoid," Pacino tried again. "You can’t go on this mission."

"So that's your game. Get me to leave Steve's six so you can take him out!" He grabbed the lapel of Pacino's coat and yanked him forward, off balance and onto his knees.

"No!" Pacino yelped. "No, that's not it at all."

"So, what is _it_, huh?" Bucky shook him. "What's this plan you've got for Steve. Maybe it's him Hydra's trying to capture!"

_Shit. _"No, I swear!" Pacino knew he could break Bucky's grip. Well, probably. Maybe. But he also knew that the other Howlies would be all over him right after. And Bucky thinking that he and Irene had it in for Captain America was _not _helpful in saving Bucky from Hydra. _Shit! _

"You swear, huh? Well I don't think the word of an _espia _means a whole lot." 

"It's not about Steve!" Pacino tried again. "It's you! We want to save you!"

"Well I don't believe you," Bucky snarled. "I think keeping me off the train is a great way to make sure Steve goes down. That's your plan, isn't it? _Isn't it?" _

Bucky's Italian was slipping with his anger, but Pacino still understood enough to know he was in trouble. He knew he needed to say something convincing, but his mind was blank.

"Tell me," Bucky hissed, "or I'll beat you so black and blue even your own mother won't recognize you."

"I'm from the future!" Pacino blurted.

Bucky's grip loosened. "What?"

"I'm from the future," Pacino repeated. "I was born in 1945. Irene and I, we work for the Ministry of Time with the Spanish Government and we've been sent on a mission to save you." He could practically hear Salvador's voice yelling at him in his head for what he'd just done.

Bucky's grip was completely lax. "You're shitting me."

"No." Pacino shook his head. "No. Look." Slowly, so to avoid getting shot, he pulled his cell phone out of the waistband of his pants and showed it to Bucky. The phone couldn't make calls outside of Spanish territory, but it still worked to take photos and videos, and you could still play Tetris.

He used his thumb to unlock the phone and then handed it to Bucky. Bucky let go of his coat and took the phone in both hands, already mesmerized. "Holy shit," he muttered in English. "Is this thing for real?"

"It's a Samsung from 2016," Pacino explained in Spanish.

"This is a phone? Made by the Japanese?" Bucky said in Italian. He started playing with it, showing the same intuitive understanding of technology that Pacino had envied in Amelia. He found Pacino's gallery. "Hey, does it take pictures?"

"It does." Pacino took the phone and put it selfie mode for low light before snapping a picture of himself and Bucky and then showing it to him.

Bucky grinned goofily, clearly entranced. "Holy shit." Then his expression darkened. "Hydra had some pretty fancy technology. Seems to me that this just proves you're one of them."

"Hydra killed my friend Alonso. I would _never!_" The very thought was insulting.

"But Spain's fighting with the Germans. Why the hell would Hydra kill your friend?"

"First, I am _not _fighting with the Germans, and secondly, because he was killed in 1976." The memory still caused his throat to thicken. "A Hydra assassin shot him like a dog."

"1976?"

"Yes, trying to prevent the assassination of our president."

"Holy shit," Bucky said again. "This sounds impossible to believe."

"Imagine how I felt when I was first recruited. I climbed through a wardrobe in 1981 and ended up in a bar in 2015."

Bucky looked down at the phone again and then back up to Pacino, several complicated expressions crossing his face. "Let's pretend for a second that I actually believe you. That would mean that you know what happens in the future."

Pacino knew where this was going. "Yes."

"So…" Bucky glanced towards where Irene and Steve were still talking. "You know what happens to him?"

"He lives," Pacino said honestly. He didn't need to mention the seventy-year gap.

"Thank God." Bucky's sigh was heartfelt. His eyes met Pacino's. "And me?"

"Hydra captures you and brainwashes you into being one of their soldiers." Pacino said softly.

Bucky looked at him blankly. "What the hell does _lavado del cerebro _mean? Hydra washes my brain?" 

Pacino blinked. "You don't know that term?"

"Not unless you actually mean someone takes out my brain and scrubs it, then no." 

"That's kind of what it means. It's like they take your thoughts, your personality, all the stuff that makes you, _you_ and clean it out." Pacino held Bucky's gaze. "They make you their puppet."

Bucky swallowed. "And then what happens?"

"You kill my friend and mortally wound our president."

Bucky's eyes grew round, but he didn't say anything.

"This president you shoot is one of the most important historical figures in modern Spain," Pacino continued. "If we don't save you from Hydra, our whole country is doomed."

Bucky licked his lips. "I guess that explains why the two of you are here."

Pacino nodded. "I know it sounds crazy, but—"

"My best friend used to be five-two and less than a hundred and twenty pounds," Bucky interrupted him. "So, who the fuck knows what's possible anymore?"

Pacino laughed. "I ask myself that everyday."

Bucky handed Pacino back his phone. "I'm still not gonna let Steve go without me."

"Then we will come too. Irene and I." Pacino sighed as he said it, accepting the inevitability of him having to put himself in harm's way to complete the mission. Nothing could ever just be simple.

_"__Buono," _Bucky said and clapped him on the arm; directly over where the Winter Soldier had shot him.

Pacino winced. "SI."

* * *

The morning dawned as grey and cold as it had ended the night before. Not that Steve had slept.

He'd taken second watch, and then just stayed up until dawn, letting his men sleep. Luckily the Super Solider Serum let him get away with a few sleepless nights before he really felt it, but he was so full of nerves that he doubted he would've needed the help, regardless.

Today was the day he had to stop Bucky from becoming a prisoner of Hydra.

He glanced over to where the two Spaniards were sleeping, huddled together under the blankets they'd had in their pack. On the surface, they looked like the scruffy Blue Division soldiers he'd been briefed on back at the SSR, but after his conversation with Irene, he knew the truth.

Not that he was totally sure he believed it.

The strange device she'd pulled out of her waistband that she'd called a 'cell phone' certainly had been convincing, as had her conviction that she and her companion had traveled back in time through doors underneath a secret Ministry that was hidden away in Madrid. The way she could recite details of his life was also convincing, especially as he knew that not much about him before he'd become Captain America had been printed in the papers. Apparently, there were several books published about him in the future. Who knew?

But still, the idea that they'd travelled to intercept him and the Howlies from the _future_ was still really hard to swallow. The yarn Irene had spun about Bucky becoming some international Hydra-trained assassin certainly sounded horrifyingly plausible. If you bought any of it, that was.

Steve shook his head. There was no way he could ignore what they were saying. Not when Bucky's life was as stake. Maybe it was bullshit, maybe not, but he couldn't afford to condemn Bucky to seventy years of torture because of his lack of faith.

He loved Bucky far too much for that.

He crept over to where Bucky was sleeping, blanket tucked around his face so only his eyes were showing. "Hey," Steve whispered softly as he bent over him, placing a gentle kiss on the corner of Bucky's eyelid. "Time to get up."

"I'm awake," Bucky mumbled without opening his eyes. One hand emerged from beneath the blanket to clasp Steve's wrist and bring his hand down to Bucky's mouth. Bucky kissed his palm and Steve inhaled, moving to caress Bucky's cheek.

He knew that even these small gestures of affection could technically get them both blue tickets. But he knew that none of the Howlies gave a shit that he and Bucky were lovers, and no one except Peggy at the SSR was any the wiser. Gently he shook Bucky's shoulder. "Bucky, you need to get up."

"Kay," Bucky sighed and opened his eyes. Around them, the Howlies were also starting to wake up, responding to the break of day in that natural way that soldiers had done since the beginning of time. The Spaniards were awake, too. Irene did something complicated with her hair that put it into a neat bun, while the other one, who had the strange Italian name 'Pacino,' ran his fingers through his before jamming on his hat. He looked up and caught Steve's eye before giving him a big grin and a sloppy salute.

Steve smiled back, although his was tighter with tension. He just wanted the day to be done.

Half-an-hour later breakfast had been cleared and their camp was packed up. Jim and Gabe were seated with their stolen Hydra radio, listening in on the transmission from Zola's train.

Their plan was for Monty, Dum Dum, Dernier and Jim to stay behind monitoring the Hydra transmissions, while Steve, Bucky, Gabe and the Spaniards ziplined onto the train. Once on it, they'd make their way to the front and capture Zola. When that was accomplished, the team would make their separate ways back to London where they'd rendezvous at the SSR. Considering how much German territory they'd have to cross with Zola as their prisoner to get to their air support, capturing him off the train actually felt like the easy part.

Except for the fact that Bucky might be taken prisoner.

Steve shook off the thought as he made his way over to Irene and Pacino. They were still wearing their long and heavy German coats, but Steve knew that they'd be leaving them behind when they boarded the train. They'd figure out how to keep them warm after Zola had been captured. He’d been worried that Morita, and especially Dum Dum would’ve given him a hard time about having the two Spaniards with them, but Morita was his usual pragmatic self, and Dum Dum had merely said that he’d follow his Captain’s orders even if he thought they were “completely fucked,” and that was the last Steve had heard about it. 

"You ready?" he asked Irene. She looked up from where she'd been checking her Luger.

"Yes," she said simply.

Pacino nodded. "Si." He grinned again. "Do not worry," he said in his thick accent. "We will keep your boy safe."

_My boy? _Steve blushed; unsure what Pacino meant by that. Maybe he and Bucky hadn't been as subtle as he thought. "Uh." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"You and Bucky. It is fine, _Capitán_,_" _Irene said. "You are not the only one." She winked at him.

_Oh. _Steve smiled, suddenly very glad that the Spaniards were there. He nodded and moved over to where Bucky was standing, surveying the zipline. The steel rope dropped out of sight above the train tracks that were just a thin line several hundred feet below.

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, and I threw up?" Steve wasn't really paying attention, his mind already on the mission ahead.

"This isn't payback, is it?" Bucky asked, as if the point of their mission had nothing to do with Zola's capture.

Steve smirked and looked behind him, where the zipline was tethered into the mountain, playing along with the joke. "And why would I do that?"

It was at that moment that Gabe and Morita confirmed that Zola was on the train, and things suddenly got a lot more serious.

Irene and Pacino came over, coats piled on the ground. Their turtlenecks couldn't have been doing anything to protect them from the cold, but Irene was standing like it was summertime in Brooklyn. Pacino had his arms crossed in obvious discomfort, but when Steve looked at him, he met his gaze unwaveringly.

The train appeared, travelling at an incredibly fast clip. "Let's get going," Monty said. "Because they're moving like the devil."

Steve put on his helmet and gripped the zipline that Dernier set up for him, taking a moment to remind his colleagues that they only had about ten seconds for them to all make it onto the train.

And then he was off, racing down the wire to the train, fast enough that it was almost like being an asthmatic kid again, struggling to catch his breath.

He stuck the landing on the train and took a moment to check behind him. They were all there: Bucky, Gabe, Irene and Pacino. So far so good.

It was Gabe's job to stay outside the train to make his way to the engine. He and Bucky and the Spaniards were going to enter the train to prevent Zola from making his escape, and to eliminate any hostiles who might otherwise cause Gabe—and Bucky—trouble. According to Irene, there were going to be more than one.

Quickly, because the wind was bitter cold, he found a ladder, opened a door and got his team inside, shutting the door behind them. The immediate absence of the wind felt so good that Steve wished he could take a moment just to enjoy it, but they had to keep moving.

Irene had said that Hydra knew they were coming.

* * *

Hydra was coming.

Pacino could feel it. The line between his shoulder blades was itching with tension and he fingered the Luger gripped tightly in his hand.

They crept silently through the train. Steve in the lead, Irene directly behind, then him and Bucky taking up the rear. Back in 2011, Steve had been excellent at recounting the details of what happened to him and Bucky on the train, but memory being what it was, they had no idea if what Steve remembered was accurate or not. Since she was fluent in English, Irene said she'd stick with Steve, which left Pacino to stick with Bucky. He was fine with that, because it meant he'd be watching her back and therefore have a better chance of keeping her safe. Alonso already died on his watch. He wasn't going to let it happen again.

They cleared the first train compartment, which had a shelving system in the middle of it full of sinister-looking boxes that felt like a massive waste of storage space. Steve and Irene went through the doors into the short connector carriage to the next compartment. He and Bucky hung back, guarding their six.

As soon as Irene went through, both set of doors slammed shut.

_Steve was right!_ Pacino thought frantically as he whirled to face the assailant coming in from the doors behind them, their weapon already blazing gunfire. Before Pacino could shoot, Bucky fired his automatic rifle, forcing the soldier to duck behind the middle rack, out of Bucky’s range, but into Pacino’s.

Pacino crouched down behind some metal crates near the door and aimed. Just as he thought, when Bucky opened fire again the Hydra soldier stepped out of range, guns still blazing.

Directly into Pacino's line of sight.

He took the shot, aiming for centre mass like he'd been taught as a rookie cop in Madrid, and firing two rounds in rapid succession. The Hydra solider dropped like a rock and suddenly the compartment was deathly quiet.

Bucky and Pacino shared a look of surprise as Pacino slowly lowered his weapon. Bucky cleared his throat. "Holy shit," he muttered.

Before he could answer the door behind them sprang open. They spun again, guns raised, only to lower them a second later when they realized it was Steve and Irene, both with matching expressions of fear.

Bucky grinned at Steve. "I had 'em on the ropes."

"I know you did," Steve said, his eyes searching Bucky for any injury.

"Steve took down a guy with a huge gun that shot some sort of blue energy beam that could blow holes in the walls as big as my head!" Irene said as she ran up to him. Then she grabbed him by the arm, pulling him close to her. "Pacino!"

"I'm fine. It was just fucking terrifying." He tried to smile, but he grimaced instead. He seemed to have gotten a stich in his side.

"Pacino, you—"

"Look out!" Steve cried, and pushed Bucky behind him.

There was a huge Hydra soldier standing in the doorway, guns as big as cannons on each wrist pointed straight at them. Before Pacino could even blink, the soldier fired, a bolt of blue energy that blasted into Steve's shield and scattered everywhere.

Pacino went flying, crashing into the wall and rolling face down onto the floor. It fucking _hurt_. He opened his eyes and saw that the compartment had been blown apart. One wall of the train was open to the air and the cavernous valley of the mountains hundreds of feet below. Steve was unconscious, just a few feet from where Pacino had landed. Irene was beside him. Her eyes were closed. The trickle of blood on her temple was the only colour on her face that was now terrifyingly pale.

Bucky was staggering to his feet as the soldier's cannons whined, signalling that they were nearly ready to fire again. He was by the ruined wall of the train, one arm reaching for Steve's shield.

"No!" Pacino threw himself to his feet and pushed Bucky to the floor, grabbing the shield to hold it aloft in a vain attempt to save the other man's life. He didn't have a good grip, but he put it in front of him the best he could. _Alonso_. He thought.

The Hydra soldier fired.

The blast slammed into the shield and blew off the compartment's roof. The force of the bolt sent Pacino backwards and he smashed into the back wall of the train. The shield careened out of his hand and landed on the floor right by Steve who was now awake. He grabbed the shield and whipped it at the Hydra soldier with enough force to send him careening into the next compartment. The soldier lay very still.

"Bucky!" Steve pulled Bucky up and into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Oh my God, Bucky!"

"I'm alright, Steve." Bucky's voice was muffled against his neck. "Pacino saved my life."

Pacino waved weakly from where he was sitting on the floor. _"De nada."_ He couldn't help smiling as he dragged himself painfully to his feet. They'd won.

Irene was awake too, thank God. She was rubbing her head and probably would have a nasty concussion, but they'd be going back to 2017, and they had great medicine there. And Alonso would be back, and President Suárez too, which meant that everything was going to be fine.

He leaned against the wall, wondering why he felt so dizzy. God, he hurt.

Irene was looking at him, and so were Steve and Bucky, the three of them with identical expressions of shock. "Pacino?"

"I'm fine, Irene," Pacino said. Because he was. Wasn't he?

"You're not fine," Steve said slowly, as if it was important that he understand. "You've been injured."

"Yes, I hit into the wall," Pacino said, equally as slowly. "But I'm fine."

"No. You've been _shot_." Irene said forcefully in Spanish.

"What?" It was true. The left side of his turtleneck was stained dark with blood. It was seeping through his pants and dripping onto the floor. _Oh shit_.

His legs gave out, and he found himself on his back on the train floor, howling in pain as Bucky pressed gauze over his wound. He was gripping Irene's hand so hard his knuckles were white.

"It's okay, it's okay!" Bucky said desperately. "We'll get this bleeding under control and you'll be fine!"

"Shh, shh." Irene had her hand pressed to his forehead, both trying to soothe him and keep him flat.

He was _dying_. He could feel his consciousness sliding away. The cold from the wind outside permeated his skin and wound around his bones, dragging him under.

_D_ _ragging him under…_

"Bucky!" He grabbed Bucky's hand. "Bucky! When Steve gets on the plane. You must go with him. Do you understand? _When he gets on the plane you must go with him!"_

"What?" Bucky asked in Italian. "Where's Steve going?"

And then everything went black.

* * *

"You are a stupid idiot."

Pacino was smiling even before he cracked open his eyes. "Alonso."

"I can't believe you got yourself shot!" Alonso was still yelling at him, his 16th century accent thicker than usual thanks to his anger. "I know that you are not a soldier, and God knows how badly you've been trained, but the least you could do is not get yourself nearly killed on a mission!"

Pacino sat up, wincing as he did so. "You died on your last mission. I don't think you have anything to yell at me about." He'd been in the _enfermería _of the Ministry for the last three days, recovering from his injuries. The trip from Austria back to 1940s Spain was a huge blur, as was his arrival safe and sound back to the future, but he'd been recovering steadily ever since.

Even if he had to put up with Alonso yelling at him at least once a day.

Alonso sniffed at Pacino's comment. "Well, since you went back in time and stopped the Winter Soldier from existing, I _didn't_ die, so you have nothing to say."

They'd had the same argument several times since Pacino was finally lucid, but it really was moot. Only Pacino and Irene remembered the Winter Soldier's attempted assassination of Suárez, as history changed for everyone else as soon as Bucky was saved, but stayed the same for them since they were still in 1945. It meant that Alonso was never killed, either, and had been waiting for them when they returned.

Not that Pacino could remember anything about their reunion.

"Fine," Pacino acquiesced. "Yes, you didn't die. Thanks to the bravery of me and Irene, you will live to fight another day." He met Alonso's eyes. "Just don't get killed again, okay?"

Alonso's eyes were deadly serious under his bushy brows. "As long as you promise the same, my brother."

They shook hands, as solemn as a vow. Then Alonso smiled. "You have visitors."

"I do?" Pacino shifted so he was sitting higher in the bed. "Amelia, Lola, Irene and even Angustias have been in to see me. Who else is there?"

Alonso rolled his eyes. "You and your women. This time it's two men." He leaned forward to whisper close to Pacino's ear. "They are _Americans._ Make sure they are not spies for Dower."

"Spies…?" Pacino turned so he could see the door as Alonso exited, being careful of his left side.

Two men came in, one blond and one dark. The blond's hair was brushed straight back from his forehead, while the other man's hair swung loose to his shoulders. Both of them sported beards and mustaches, and they were both tall with powerful builds, like you'd expect from a war hero.

Or an Avenger.

"Steve?" Pacino's eyes grew wide. "Bucky?"

"Hey." Steve smiled shyly as he pulled over the chair Alonso had used and sat down. Bucky stood behind him, back to the wall. "How you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Pacino said, still taking in the sight of the two men. Bucky was wearing a jacket and both hands were tucked into his pockets. It was impossible to tell if either of his arms were metal. "How are you?"

"We are good," Steve said in careful Spanish, then ran a hand through his hair. "We, uh." He blushed. "Bucky," he said in English, "maybe you should talk."

"We wanted to say thank you," Bucky said in Spanish. "For telling me to get on the plane with Steve. I don’t know how you knew we were both gonna get frozen, but waking up with him in the future made everything a little easier." He put his hand on Steve's shoulder. His left hand. And it wasn't metal.

The corner of Pacino's mouth lifted. "So, it worked? You didn't get taken prisoner by Hydra?"

"Nope." Bucky shook his head. "Not that they didn't try again before we went down with the _Valkyrie_. But since we knew what was going on, it was easier to plan for it, y'know?"

"And now you speak Spanish?" Pacino said, suddenly realizing that he could understand everything Bucky was saying.

"Seemed like a good language to learn, y'know, while Steve and I were waiting for you and Irene to get back to the future." Bucky smiled.

"You learned Spanish for us?"

"Well, it wasn't like you were going to learn English any time soon." Bucky laughed. "And I've always been really good with languages. So, why not?"

"I'm really honoured," Pacino said sincerely. "I wish I could do something for you."

"You already did," Bucky said, "you kept me from becoming Hydra’s prisoner. You almost died saving my life. You made sure that me and Steve could be together. I think that's enough."

"You and Irene did so much for us." Steve leaned forward in his chair, clearly understanding the essence of the conversation. "Bucky and I owe you both our entire future."

Pacino blushed, embarrassed with the affluent praise. "Thank you," he mumbled. "But really, we did it all to save Spain."

"Spain could have no better heroes," Bucky said.

Pacino's blush deepened. "It wasn't that big a deal, really."

"I will take all the praise then." Irene laughed as she came into the room. "Alonso told me you were here."

Steve stood and he and then Bucky gave Irene a hug. "We wanted to say thanks," Steve said in English.

"Lovely!" Irene exclaimed. Her hair was down and she was wearing a well-fitted dress in yellow, white and black with heels that put her head nearly at Steve's eyes. "And I know the perfect place where you two gentlemen can take me to dinner."

Bucky and Steve laughed and Steve offered her his arm. "I've always wanted to see Madrid."

"And I've always wanted to show it off to two handsome men." Irene grinned. "Shall we?"

"Can I come?" Pacino sat up and then fell back, grimacing in pain.

"No," Irene said succinctly. "And maybe this will teach you not to walk in front of a bullet next time we go on a mission."

"Yes ma'am," Pacino mumbled as the three of them left. He sighed, and flicked on the TV, turning it to a football game, trying not to feel bitter that Irene was going out with two Avengers without him.

Then the reality of it hit him and he smiled. He was alive, Alonso was alive, Spain was safe, and he could probably consider Captain America and the White Wolf his friends.

Not a bad day's work after all.

END


End file.
